The Stone of Archimedes Read Free Page A

of his old Agency personas, which had been flagged when the Tunisian authorities inquired about him. He hadn’t used his real civilian passport in at least five years.
    â€œYou’re right, of course,” Jake said, appeasing the man. “Please get that for me.”
    Smiling, the man pulled Jake’s passport from inside his pocket and handed it to him, along with a Visa card that was insignificant. There was perhaps a thousand dollars of available credit and Jake only used it for rental cars and hotels. Totally untraceable to the real Jake Adams.
    With no grace or pleasure, Jake strolled out of the cell and Draconian prison just a few miles from ancient Carthage, wondering if anything had really changed in this region since the last Punic War.

3
    Washington D.C.
    A black Ford Expedition with tinted windows slowed along a quiet Georgetown street lined with tony restaurants peopled by the rich and powerful and influence peddlers of America. The SUV pulled up in front of a Greek café and stopped at the curb. The driver, wearing the requisite black suit and hat, looked into the rearview mirror at the man in the back seat—a man with a suit worth more than the driver made in a month.
    Senator James Halsey was on his cell phone with an important campaign investor. Not that Halsey needed anyone’s money. He was an old money Texas billionaire, his family earning every penny in cotton, cattle, oil and shipping. No, Halsey let his donors think they had some influence with him. But he was beholden to no one. And that’s the way he liked it. Yet, there were times like this, with his sister going off the reservation, or something, where even money didn’t seem to be a great advantage.
    Halsey clicked off his phone and started for the door handle.
    â€œSir,” the driver said. “Please wait for our men to check out the restaurant.”
    Halsey always forgot the security protocols. In Texas on his sprawling fifty-thousand acre ranch, he could throw on a pair of jeans and a Stetson, strap his vintage 1847 .44 caliber Colt Walker to his right hip, and ride his favorite horse for hours until his backside was chafed. All with nobody to babysit him. He watched as two large men with visible bulges in their suits where they held their guns, came back out the front door of the Greek restaurant and nodded for the senator to come out.
    â€œThanks for the reminder, Steve,” the senator said to his driver. With some embarrassment for all the attention, Halsey hurried out of the car and into the restaurant.
    Seeing the pretty woman with long dark curly hair in the far corner booth, far enough away from any other patrons to be heard by anyone, Halsey smiled and approached her. This would be their third meeting in the past three weeks—ever since Halsey discovered his sister missing somewhere in Europe. He only knew that her first name was Maria, and that she had great influence in the U.S. government. But he suspected she had worked at one time with the Agency or the FBI. She had that feel about her. As a member of the foreign relations committee, Halsey had been briefed enough times by people like Maria to know she could probably kill him before he even had a chance to retrieve his little concealed .380 auto from inside his jacket.
    He took a seat across from this beautiful woman, noticing she was sipping a glass of white wine. She had to be at least in her mid-forties, Halsey guessed, but could easily pass for a decade younger. Very elegant. If he wasn’t more or less happily married, he might make a run for her.
    â€œWhat’s the word?” Halsey asked her.
    â€œFirst, you must try this wine,” Maria said. “Here, take a sip. It’s a Dafni from Crete. Very nice.” She held the glass for him.
    Reluctantly he took the glass and sipped. It was good. He handed the glass back to her and motioned for the waiter to bring him a glass.
    â€œVery good,” he said.